. . . when a
person is occupied with things that he sees established in the finest order and
directed by divine management, will not the unremitting contemplation of them
and a certain familiarity with them stimulate him to the best and to admiration
for the Maker of everything, in whom are all happiness and every good? For
would not the pious psalmist [92:4] in vain declare that he was made glad
through the work of the Lord and rejoiced in the works of His hands, if we were
not drawn to the contemplation of the highest good by this means?1
These words
reveal that although Copernicus' model would cause revolutions in science and
culture, it does not seem to have caused any revolutionary upheaval in
Copernicus' own faith. Science and faith lived and moved and had their being
within him, harmoniously: harmoniously within the heart of this Pole, within
the heart of this graduate from the
If we
understand the significance for the people of
The eminent
historian, Georges Minois, speaks for many when he argues that the condemnation
of Galileo, "consecrated" a "great divorce" between science
and the Church.2 If we grant that the nuptial analogy is apt, then truly we can
say that John Paul's work is an attempt to reconcile old lovers. John Paul
firmly proclaims the Catholic insight that if science and faith could live
together harmoniously in the hearts of Copernicus and Galileo, then, in
principle, they should be able to do so in the hearts of all scientists; and
thus, there is no need for any divorce between science and faith. The God of
creation is the God of revelation and redemption. John Paul's project,
therefore, has been something akin to marriage counseling.
First, he
seeks to understand better what caused the rupture in this relationship: What
went wrong and why? Second, he initiates a deeper reconciliation by calling
scientists and theologians to work toward establishing a new unity (what he
calls a "relational unity") between science and religion. Thirdly,
from this new unity, he calls scientists and theologians to work together for
the formation of true culture (i.e., fully human culture). This is the project
he follows in virtually everything he has written concerning science and
religion. He wants to analyze the rupture, work toward a new unity, and
together promote true culture.
We cannot but
deplore certain attitudes which have existed among Christians themselves,
insufficiently attentive to the legitimate autonomy of science. Sources of
tensions and conflicts, they have lead many minds to conclude that faith and
science are mutually opposed.3
The Pope
explains that the Council Fathers are alluding to the Galileo case (as the
footnote attached to the council text makes clear), and he continues:
In order to go
a step beyond this position taken by the council, I wish that theologians,
scholars and historians, animated by a spirit of sincere collaboration, might
examine more deeply the Galileo case and, in an honest recognition of wrongs on
whatever side they occur, might make disappear the obstacles that this affair
still sets up in many minds, to a fruitful concord between science and faith,
between the church and world. I give my entire support to this task which will
be able to honor the truth of faith and of science and open the door to future
collaborations.4
John Paul made
good on his promise. In July of 1981, the Pope constituted a study commission
for the expressed purpose of studying the Galileo case. The commission -
composed of scientists, historians and theologians - worked for over ten years
and then in 1992 it brought its work to a close.
In all of
this, John Paul's expressed aim was to provide the Church and the scientific
community with a deeper understanding of the case. This knowledge, it was
hoped, would help both communities learn some important lessons about the
proper relationship between science and faith. The commission's basic
conclusion was that the rift occurred because, first, no one (neither
scientists nor theologians), during those early days of the scientific method,
had a sufficiently clear understanding of the relationship between data and
theory, and between data and theory's relationship to their larger
philosophical and theological frameworks.
This lack of
clarity was causing trouble for everyone. For example, what exactly had
Galileo's observations proved? It was generally agreed that his observations
disproved the Ptolemaic system, but in what sense had he proved the Copernican
system? Heliocentrism accounted for the then available astronomical data, but
so did the geocentric system of the Danish astronomer, Tycho Brahe (which still
pictured the earth at the center with the sun orbiting it, but now the planets
were no longer presented as orbiting the earth but as orbiting the sun.) One
problem, therefore, was the lack of clarity concerning theory, data and their
relationship to one's larger philosophical framework. Responsibility for the
trouble this caused rests more or less equally upon all the parties involved.
But there was
a second source of trouble, responsibility for which rests squarely with the
Church. The theologians involved in the Galileo case, failed to grasp the
profound, non-literal meaning of the Scriptures when they described the
physical structure of the created universe. This led them unduly to transpose a
question of factual observation into the realm of faith.5
What Augustine
and Aquinas had understood well, the theologians of the Catholic Reformation
has lost cite of. They failed to recognize that, in the Scriptures, the Holy
Spirit does not teach us "how the heavens go, but how to go to
heaven." More on this later. Before we move to the next section, however,
it is important to note that John Paul exhibits in his writings a real
affection for Galileo. He refers to him frequently and often praises him, especially
the insight Galileo exhibits concerning biblical interpretation. Indeed, in one
address the Pope employs Galileo almost as his theological guide for biblical
interpretation, and quotes him liberally. One has the sense in reading these
passages that the Pope, as a Polish patriot, is consciously righting an old
wrong, a wrong inflicted upon Copernicus' greatest disciple. But to right that
wrong, more is needed than mere knowledge of the wrong done. A new harmony must
be established.
Scientists
will often reject faith because they frequently are confronted with religious
claims which plainly contradict the observable data concerning the natural
world. (I have in mind here biblical literalists who claim that the earth is
only ten thousand years old, or who deny that any form of evolutionary process
has been at work in the emergence of life on the earth). Confronted with this,
many in the scientific community conclude that while science belongs to the
domain of reason, faith attacks reason and is thus essentially at odds with it.
Conversely,
many individuals of sincere religious conviction (whether Christians, Muslims
or Jews), often reject science - in whole or in part - because they so
frequently encounter scientists attacking the deepest tenets of their faith:
they encounter scientists who claim that material reality is all that exists,
that it was not "created" because there is no God, and that there is no
immortal soul, because consciousness is only a product of physical/chemical
processes. Moreover, these same scientists will often logically conclude from
their premises that there is no such thing as sin. The only values or disvalues
that exist, exist on the level of functionality, and lead to the question: Is
it useful or is it pleasurable?
These two
extremes should be familiar to all of us, because - in the American experience
- they are the level at which public discourse between science and religion often,
if not exclusively, occurs. One extreme represents what is commonly called
creationism, a view which absolutizes biblical revelation, claiming that it is
the source of all truth, even scientific truth. The other extreme is that of
scientism, which absolutizes science's quantitative method of investigation and
makes the very unscientific claim that only the quantifiable (i.e., the
material or measurable) exists.
To return to
our nuptial analogy, these two extremes can perhaps best be understood as the
type of mistake into which young lovers can often fall. Those who are living in
an unhealthy relationship often attempt to merge their personalities one with
the other. Inevitably, however, this leads to domination. The personality and
legitimate independence of the one is subsumed into the other, to the great
misfortune of both.
John Paul is
clearly aware of this dynamic: that either science or faith - whether in the
hearts of individuals or institutions -can attempt to absolutize its role by
claiming itself to be the sole source of truth. Yet, experience, the Pope
explains, has taught the Church that this is not the way the relationship
should be lived. In order to promote the well-being and proper functioning of
both science and faith, the legitimate autonomy of each within its own domain
must be recognized and respected. Only then can a healthy relational unity be
established between them. John Paul explains it thus:
The unity that
we seek, . . . is not identity. The church does not propose that science should
become religion or religion, science. On the contrary, unity always presupposes
the diversity and the integrity of its elements. Each of these members should
become not less itself but more itself in a dynamic interchange, for a unity in
which one of the elements is reduced to the other is destructive, false in its
promises of harmony and ruinous of the integrity of its components. We are
asked to become one. We are not asked to become each other.6
John Paul
later explains specifically what he means by unity in diversity:
Both religion
and science must preserve their own autonomy and their distinctiveness.
Religion is not founded on science nor is science an extension of religion.
Each should possess its own principles, its pattern of procedures, its
diversities of interpretation and its own conclusions. ... While each can and
should support the other as distinct dimensions of a common human culture,
neither ought to assume that it forms a necessary premise for the other.7
The model here
is that there are two autonomous realms of knowledge. There is what reason can
attain through the use of the scientific method; and there is that knowledge
which has its source in revelation. Both science and faith have points of
contact: they both illumine an aspect of reality. Science considers the world
and the human person on the horizontal level, the level of physical/chemical
processes and of quantifiable matter. Religious faith, on the other hand,
considers the vertical level: the level of the human person's transcendent
origin, dignity and destiny: the level of the human person in his or her
relationship with God.
Many grow
uncomfortable when they hear that science should be autonomous. It conjures in
their minds images of the sorcerer's apprentice whose autonomous science has
run amuck with ruinous effect. But the Pope, following the Second
John Paul is
confident that if science is faithful to its method (if it dedicates itself to
the pursuit of knowledge), then science poses no threat to belief, nor does it
endanger the integral welfare of human society. The Pope is quite aware,
however, that scientists do more than just research. They also seek to
integrate their findings into a larger coherent view of the world. In these
efforts, they have recourse to what the Pope calls "metascientific
concepts."8
Whether they
realize it or not, scientists often engage in philosophical reflection. They
enter the domain of what some would call, "the philosophy of nature."
John Paul acknowledges that it is right and just that scientists should do
this. Like anyone else, as human beings they desire to understand the meaning
that the truths they discover have for their own lives and for the life of the
larger community. John Paul explains, however, that once scientists move to
this level, the Church is going to engage them in dialogue. Indeed, he says
more. The Pope asserts that once scientists move to the level of philosophical
reflection they need to be in dialogue with religious faith. Why? Because often
"undue extrapolations" are made which link their "strictly
scientific discoveries" to ideologies or world-views that are in no way
implied by the data, and which do violence to the dignity and vocation of the human
person.9 (For example, when a scientist embeds his research within a
reductionist and materialist view of the world.) In such instances the Church
reserves the right to counter these misguided conclusions with the truths of
faith and the tools of philosophy.
Scientists are
autonomous in their search for knowledge. Yet, when they move to the level of
philosophical reflection - the level which makes absolute claims about the
human person's transcendent origin and destiny - on that level they are not autonomous.
On that level, John Paul argues, scientists have a twofold obligation: (a) they
must develop their philosophical reflections concerning their research in
dialogue with the larger community, which includes the Church (and indeed, all
religions); and (b) they must recognize that they, and all people, have a
transcendent vocation: they have a vocation to know and love a truth that
transcends this world. In John Paul's view, if scientists are going to step
outside of the domain of scientific investigation and engage in philosophical
reflection, they must take care to embed the fruits of their research within
philosophical frameworks that recognize the human person's transcendent
vocation.
It is
precisely at this point that others become concerned. If some are troubled by
the notion that science should be described as "autonomous," others
are deeply disturbed by the prospect of religious authority critiquing their
philosophical inquiries. If this is what John Paul means by relational unity, they
want no part in it. John Paul counters, however, by asserting that religion's
critical role does not hinder scientific investigation, but actually perfects
and preserves it. When John Paul argues that scientists' philosophical
investigations must recognize the human person's transcendent dignity - that he
or she has the vocation to know truth and choose truth - in John Paul's view,
he is defending the conditions for the possibility of science. Only if you
believe that there is such a thing as truth, and that it can be known and
freely embraced, is science possible. On the other hand, if one denies that
there is truth, then the scientific community has no defense against forces in
society that would usurp science.
This is at the
core of all of John Paul's thought: there is no freedom without the recognition
of truth. Unless one recognizes that there is something which transcends this
world and the structures of this world, one ceases to be free. Unless there is
something that can be used as a measure for judging the structures of this
world, those structures will begin to enslave us. Without truth, we become
subject to the powers of this world and have no defense against them.
Thus, when
scientific investigation becomes enmeshed in a false view of the human person,
it becomes enslaved. When the human person is viewed merely on the material
level as a thing to be manipulated and when utility becomes the only good, then
science as the unhindered pursuit of knowledge will begin to disappear. It will
be replaced by a science enslaved to the idols and ideologies of the age. Under
this corrupting influence, dedication to the pursuit of knowledge and the
welfare of the human community will inevitably give way to the pursuit of
profit and power. In the process, the dignity of scientists themselves becomes
degraded: to their horror they begin to discover that they are increasingly
little more than instruments for the production of products and the manufacture
of munitions.
The Pope,
therefore, appeals to the scientific community to recognize that a dialogical
and relational unity between science and religion is for the benefit of both.
His explanation of this in his ground-breaking letter to the director of the
Vatican Observatory deserves to be quoted at length.
Science can
purify religion from error and superstition; religion can purify science from
idolatry and false absolutes. Each can draw the other into a wider world, a
world in which both can flourish.
For the truth
of the matter is that the church and the scientific community will inevitably
interact; their options do not include isolation. Christians will inevitably
assimilate the prevailing ideas about the world, and today these are deeply
shaped by science. The only question is whether they will do this critically or
unreflectively, with depth and nuance or with a shallowness that debases the
Gospel and leaves us ashamed before history. Scientists, like all human beings,
will make decisions upon what ultimately gives meaning and value to their lives
and to their work. This they will do well or poorly, with the reflective depth
that theological wisdom can help them attain or with an unconsidered
absolutizing of their results beyond their reasonable and proper limits.
Both the
church and the scientific community are faced with such inescapable
alternatives. We shall make our choices much better if we live in a
collaborative interaction in which we are called continually to be more. Only a
dynamic relationship between theology and science can reveal those limits which
support the integrity of either discipline, so that theology does not profess a
pseudoscience and science does not become an unconscious theology. Our
knowledge of each other can lead us to be more authentically ourselves. No one
can read the history of the past century and not realize that crisis is upon us
both. The uses of science have on more than one occasion proven massively
destructive, and the reflections on religion have too often been sterile. We
need each other to be what we must be, what we are called to be.10
To summarize,
therefore, John Paul is saying that by establishing and living this relational
unity, both science and faith benefit. Negatively, they help each other avoid
absolutizing themselves as the sole source of truth. Positively, they help each
other understand more deeply the truths that pertain to them. Moreover, they
help each other preserve their legitimate freedom and independence.
I note in
passing that John Paul takes very seriously the notion that theology needs
science. He asserts that the data and the methods of science will help theology
probe the mysteries of faith more deeply. He specifically states that reality -
the truth of faith - is much richer than any theology can adequately explain.
Thus, just as Aquinas found in the science flooding the culture of his day
elements that could illumine his faith, the same is true for us today. What we
need, he says, is a new St. Thomas to do with the science of our day, what
Thomas did with Aristotle.11
Tragically,
science has also often been directed toward destroying any unified sense of
human purpose. In other words, at times science has been an instrument toward
the fragmentation of culture. Yet, it can be something very different. In the
heart of society, science can become an engine for promoting the unified and
holistic growth of true human culture.
Thus, John
Paul calls upon scientists to take back their research and to ensure that it is
not used to destroy or degrade human life. The way to ensure this, John Paul
explains, is by promoting a true conception of the human person. Scientists
should be involved in the philosophical reflection and cultural leadership
necessary to instill in the cultures of the world an understanding of the human
person's transcendent dignity: that we have been made for a truth that
transcends this world. We are made of matter, but also of spirit. Scientists
must be concerned about the values of the larger culture, because the very
existence of science - indeed, the very existence of scientists and humans in
general - depends upon this. As discoverers of truth, scientists have a
responsibility to ensure that the truths they discover are used in ways that do
not destroy human dignity.
John Paul
invites scientists to join with the Church to promote and ensure the two great
freedoms at the heart of true culture: religious freedom (the freedom to pursue
religious truth), and scientific freedom (the freedom to search for true
knowledge about the physical world). Admittedly, the Church in her leaders has
not always recognized the full value of these two freedoms. The crucible of
modern history, however, has taught her the importance of recognizing and
defending them. Conscious of this, John Paul is inviting scientists and
theologians to learn from the past so that we can work together for a better
future.
Ultimately,
these two freedoms are only possible if the existence of truth is affirmed.
Science will not survive unless it is embedded in a culture that presents its
young with a coherent view of the purpose of human life. Unless we succeed in
sharing with our children the existence of a truth that invites us to discover
it, our own existence will become imperiled.
John Paul,
however, is filled with confidence. As a person of faith nurtured in the
Christian tradition, he recognizes that the truth we pursue has a hidden power
all its own. Science and faith can work together for the promotion of true
culture, because ultimately the truth they both pursue is a "who" and
not a "what." The relationship between science and faith can be
dynamic and healthy, because truth itself is a dynamic relationship. Indeed,
for the Christian, the ground of truth is itself a triune community of love. v
Father
Sherwin, O.P. is a founding member and former coordinator of the St. Albert the
Great Forum on Theology and Science and is currently pursuing doctoral studies
in Christian Ethics at the University of Notre Dame.
NOTES
1 Nicholas Copernicus, On The Revolutions, edited by Jerzy Dobrzycki, Translation and Commentary by Edward Rosen (Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978), 7.
2 Georges Minois, L'Eglise et la Science: Histoire d'un malentendu, De saint Augustin ą Galilée (Paris: Fayard, 1990), 9.
3 Gaudium et Spes, n 36.
4 John Paul II, "Address to the Pontifical Academy of Sciences," November 10, 1979; Origins, CNS documentary service v. 9, n. 24 (November 29, 1979), 391.
5 Cardinal Poupard, "Galileo: Report on Papal Commission Findings," Origins , v. 22, n. 22 (November 12, 1992), 375. There is some confusion concerning whether Cardinal Poupard reported the findings of the Commission itself, or expressed his own reflections concerning the work of the Commission.
6 John Paul II, "Letter to the Reverend George V. Coyne, S.J., Director
of the
7 Ibid.
8 John Paul II, "Lessons of the Galileo Case," address to the Pontifical Academy of Sciences, October 31, 1992; in Origins, v. 22, n. 22 (November 12, 1992), 371.
9 Ibid.
10 John Paul II, "Letter to Reverend George V. Coyne, S.J.," Origins, 378.
11 Ibid., 377-378.
12 John Paul II, "The World as an Environment for Humanity," Origins, v. 10, n. 4 (June 12, 1980), 58-64.